On the Night She Died: A Quarry Street Story Read online

God, that laugh. The Rebecca of these late night phone calls was not the Rebecca from school, the one who never even glanced in his direction. She wasn’t even the one from the party, made brave by vodka punch. This Rebecca laughed with him, and it was genuine and real and every time he heard the happiness in her voice, Tristan could only think about making sure she always sounded like that.

  “Nope. I have a couple loads all ready to go.”

  “It’s almost nine.”

  “Your parents won’t let you out?” He knew the answer to that before she replied.

  “No. I mean, I doubt it. They’d at least want to know where I was going.”

  He shifted on the pillows. “And you can’t tell them.”

  “No.”

  “Too bad.” Tristan lowered his voice. “I really want to see you.”

  The hitch of her breath was very loud even through the phone line and distance. “Oh.”

  “Do you want to see me?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Rebecca,” he whispered. “Answer me.”

  “Yes, Tristan. Yes, I want to see you.”

  “Let me come over, then.” He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

  “No!”

  “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Her breathing grew faster and harsher before softening. “You can’t. I mean, I can’t meet you.”

  “Sneak me into your room.”

  “Oh my God.” She laughed. “You’re crazy.”

  “About you,” Tristan said.

  Both of them fell silent again. This game had rules neither of them had defined, and it felt like he’d just broken one. He didn’t want to take back the words, but he did wonder if she was going to hang up on him.

  “Why?” Rebecca’s voice was hesitant.

  She’d said no, but she might change her mind, so Tristan got up from the bed to gather his keys, wallet, some cash. His shoes. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  Tristan grabbed his jacket from the back of the closet door. “I like the way your mouth tastes.”

  The strangled noise she made gave him pause. The words had whispered out of him without thought. They’d been too much, he thought. Nobody said things like that to each other. Not kids their age, anyway. He’d just laid himself bare in front of her worse than if he’d actually stripped naked.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered finally.

  “Sorry, that was--”

  “No, don’t be sorry. Oh my God,” she repeated. “Yes. Come over.”

  Chapter 12

  Jenni

  Then

  They’d been making out on the couch in Ilya’s living room for hours. Jenni’s lips felt puffy and sore. There was an ache in her lower belly and between her legs that she never felt with anyone else. It made her crazy, because it seemed like unless she took his hand and put it down her pants, Ilya was never going to move them along from dry humping to something more satisfying for both of them.

  Jenni had lost her virginity a few months ago, and although she would never have admitted that in her fantasies she’d always given it up right here on this couch, with this boy, she also didn’t regret the way it had happened. The first time had been as terrible as she’d always been told it would be, but it got better fast after that. She sure as hell wasn’t holding on to any lingering guilt or anything about it, the way she knew she was supposed to.

  If she shifted beneath him right now, Ilya might at least let her go down on him. They’d done that a couple times. Never talked about it, after. Both pretended it hadn’t happened. He’d never offered to reciprocate, either, but she thought he would if she prompted him to.

  That was the issue, wasn’t it? That no matter how many times they’d ended up here, Jenni always had to be the one initiating. It was hard enough to find a time when the house was empty, without parents or siblings, so you’d think that the moment they had the place to themselves that he’d have her jeans unzipped before she had a chance to even think about it.

  Ilya had muttered something that, too caught up in her sexual frustration, Jenni hadn’t heard. “Huh?”

  “What if you were my girlfriend? Like. Legit.”

  Stunned, she laughed aloud. "Us? Dating? Like a real thing?"

  "You don't have to make it sound like such a bad thing," Ilya answered, sounding irritated. "Yeah, us. A real thing. Dating."

  "Out in public?" She'd snuck in through the back door when everyone else was asleep. This had always been a secret. The idea of taking it public, making it real, shocked her.

  She couldn’t tell Ilya about Steve, and as much as she fantasized about telling Steve about Ilya to make him jealous, she never would. If she and Ilya made this a real thing, not something secret, she’d have to break off what she had going already. That would be complicated.

  Ilya sat back against the couch. "Yeah."

  "Don't you like us being like this?"

  She reached for him. She didn’t want to believe he meant what he’d said, didn’t want to give in to the lift her heart had felt at the suggestion. Being with Ilya would feel like…what? A rescue, yet one without safety, because what could be more dangerous than trusting him with her love?

  He held himself away. "Look, if we're going to keep doing this in secret, but you won't even let me touch you, and you won't touch me, what's the point, Jenni?”

  She got quiet. Her throat closed with tears that also stung her eyes. Is that what he thought? That she wasn’t “letting” him touch her? Because now it was clear that all of this was her fault. Ilya blamed her. She was the one who he expected to be guiding this, once again, and she hated him for making her feel like somehow she’d been the one to mess it up. She was a prude if she didn’t give it up to him and a whore if she made the first move. There was no winning with boys, not when they became men, either. It disgusted her suddenly. The only reason he wanted her to be his girlfriend was so they’d fuck around, and that pissed her off.

  "See, I knew that was all you wanted,” she said.

  "Of course it's what I want," Ilya snapped with a tug at the crotch of his jeans, making a big show of it. "What guy doesn't want to get laid?"

  "But you want me to be your girlfriend?" She shot back, tasting the scorn like scorched toast. "Go on dates? Be a couple?"

  Ilya frowned. "What's so wrong with that?"

  "If all you want is to get laid," Jenni muttered, "why bother with the rest of the bullshit? All that hearts and flowers crap. So, what, you can get your dick sucked on the regular? And after that, what? When you figure out that you're done with me, you can dump me and go get laid by someone else?"

  "What's your problem?" Ilya put an arm's length of distance between them. "What, are you on your period?"

  Her reply came out with a hiss, the words filtering through a sneer so twisted it hurt her face. She should have known better than to think for even one second that Ilya Stern really wanted her to be his girlfriend. To do what? Wear his class ring? Kiss him by the lockers? It was bullshit.

  "Oh, right, because a girl gets mad, that means she's on her period. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm just tired of all this shit from guys like you?"

  "Guys like who?”

  "Just...all guys." Jenni flapped her hands at him, shadows upon shadows. "You all want sex and that's it."

  Ilya leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees so he could scrub at his face. "I just told you I wanted to make you my girlfriend, Jenni. Take you out. Make it a real thing, not some kind of secret sex thing. Why do you have to twist it around like that? You're the one making this into that sort of thing. Not me."

  "And what happens when you want to break up with me?"

  His expression was too hard to see in the shadows. "What makes you think I'd want to?"

  Wouldn’t he? It might be great at first, especially if they were fucking. But something would happen and he’d be tired of it, of her, or she’d make him angry and he’d deci